


Right Hand Man

by rinthegreat



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Canon Divergent after Sendak was dropped from the ship, Character Study, Gen, Violence, no longer compliant, rated for violence just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2019-05-09 04:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14709368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinthegreat/pseuds/rinthegreat
Summary: What does he know?1.	This isn’t the worst mess he’s been in, but it’s damn near close.2.	Somehow, he was in that pod against his will.3.	He once had two arms, but he hasn’t for a while. Or at least, not his natural one.4.	And his name is…is…He’ll remember his name in time.--Post Season 1 Episode 9





	Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> Find lovely art [here](http://artbymaryc.tumblr.com/post/174067067742/collaboration-with-rinthegreat-for-their-fic).

 

The first thing his mind registers when he regains consciousness is pain. Excruciating, unbearable pain. When he finally rallies his senses and forces his eyes open, he can see why. Surrounding him is shattered glass, pieces of metal, torn electrical wires. The clear signs of a crash.

Heat flares somewhere off to the side, and he looks over, spying the growing flame. Time to move then. He pushes himself up, realizing too late that he’s short an arm, cut off just below his shoulder. He stumbles before he can even get his feet beneath himself, tilting forward.

There’s a shard of metal sticking out of his stomach which slams against the edge of the pod. The resulting clang reverberates through his body sickeningly. For a moment he closes his eyes, forcing down the nausea. He counts his breaths until he hears the crackling from behind him and forces himself to _move_.

He barely makes it away before the flame hits the electronics, and an explosion ends the pod’s short life. Breathing heavily, he leans down against the ground, holding himself up with his one arm.

What does he know?

  1. This isn’t the worst mess he’s been in, but it’s damn near close.
  2. Somehow, he was in that pod against his will.
  3. He once had two arms, but he hasn’t for a while. Or at least, not his natural one.
  4. And his name is…is…



He’ll remember his name in time.

Right now he needs to get to higher ground, see where he is and determine where he needs to get to. He needs to get medical help or at least find a place where he can make do. He needs water and shelter more than he needs food.

He runs through the list in his mind as he scrambles upright, repeating it over and over again until he’s finally standing on his own two feet. Higher ground, medical aid, water, shelter.

Three steps is as far as he makes it before he’s collapsed back onto his knees. He paws at the shard, pain pricking his eyes, and when he raises his hand to his face, it’s stained red. He can taste iron, feel liquid dripping down his chin.

Internal bleeding too then.

His breaths come out shallow, and he’s not going to make it upright again. There’s a ringing in his ears, growing louder and louder as he crouches, doubled over and panting.

His fur prickles, standing on end with the feeling that he’s being watched. He looks up, squinting as the world blurs around him. For a second, he swears he sees a small creature walking towards him. But before he can clear his vision, a sharp pang in his stomach overwhelms him, and he falls forward, unconscious.

\---

Waking up the second time is somehow both less and more painful than the first. Less, because the iron taste of blood is gone along with the pounding in his skull. More, because all of that is replaced with a fiery burn against his side.

This time, he jerks upright with a roar, eyes snapping open. He barely has a chance to register a small creature bent over him before his hand jerks out, gripping it around the neck and lifting it with a snarl.

“Where am I?” he demands.

The creature stares at him blankly, not responding.

He shakes them. “ **Where am I?** ” he shouts.

The creature clutches at its neck, letting out gasps in the universal sign that it’s choking. He releases it, letting it drop to the ground. He looks around himself, trying to get a bearing on his surroundings as he ignores the coughing and spluttering from the small creature. What does he know now?

  1. He’s in a dwelling, too small for him but in scale with the size of the creature.
  2. His stomach, upon further inspection, has been cauterized, which is likely what woke him up.
  3. He’s a Commander of the Galra Empire, serving under Zarkon.
  4. And his name is Sendak.



He kicks his legs off the small bed, planting them on the floor and pushes himself up. Immediately, he collapses back onto the bed, legs too weak to hold him. “What did you do to me?” he asks the creature.

It looks up at him from the floor, blinking as it clutches its neck. Somehow, it doesn’t look upset or even scared. Instead, after giving him a long gaze, it pulls itself upright and disappears out of the flap covering the opening to the room without saying a single word.

He’s trapped here, Sendak realizes. He’d crash landed in a pod on this planet, somehow, and now he’s stuck at the mercy of this…weakling. A weakling who has made him like itself, unable to even stand, barely able to sit up.

Like this, he’s worthless to the Empire.

The creature comes back in after a few moments, carrying a tray between its hands. Sendak growls as it approaches, but it ignores him, laying the tray across his lap. It motions to the tray, and when Sendak doesn’t immediately respond, it lifts the bowl to its lips, miming drinking. The creature holds the bowl out, gesturing wordlessly for Sendak to take it.

He easily holds it in his one hand, claws scraping against small wrists. He could crush this creature with his one hand if he wished. “If this is poisoned,” he threatens, “I promise you, I will kill you.”

It mimes drinking again, this time with empty hands.

Sendak lifts the bowl to his nose, taking a careful whiff. There’s a scent he doesn’t recognize, almost woody, but the entire thing smells like vegetables. Weakling food. He doesn’t pick up the scent of poison, though it’s possible some has snuck in there.

But he hasn’t accustomed his body to assassination attempts for nothing.

Sendak takes a sip. It isn’t…bad. Not exactly. The liquid is light, tastes of grass and bark, and overall it isn’t something he would ever enjoy. Regardless, a single sip is enough to remind his body that it hasn’t consumed anything in longer than he can remember, and suddenly he’s _parched_. Sendak swallows the rest of it in two sips.

The creature climbs up onto the bed he’s reclined on and snatches the bowl before Sendak can set it down. It grabs a jug from the tray sitting in Sendak’s lap and pours more liquid into it before offering it again. Sendak glares at the creature before grabbing the jug from its hands and sucking down the drink directly from it.

The creature regards him quietly, not seeming insulted or perturbed in any way. And when Sendak sets the jug on the tray harder than necessary, the creature simply offers the bowl again. With a growl he snatches it and drinks that too. It isn’t anything he’d think of as delicious, but he feels better just having it. The burning against his stomach is receding, any leftover pain from the crash disappearing along with it.

“Where am I?” he asks again. He isn’t surprised when the creature doesn’t respond.

It gathers the tray up in its arms and carries it out of the room. Sendak doesn’t try to stand up again, instead satisfying himself with sitting upright and looking around. The creature, the furnishings, all of it is completely unfamiliar to him. This isn’t a planet he’s been on before, not when he was a soldier, not when he’d worked his way up to commander. He doesn’t think this is a planet conquered by the Galra Empire either, because he’s seen no sign of them. Besides, if there were Galra here, he would’ve been immediately taken to them to be healed, not tended to by some local.

The creature walks back in, flanked by two others just like it. The one on the right has a crude crown placed atop its head, and the one on the left is wearing a few haphazard pieces of armor. Sendak wraps his hand around the side of the mattress, ready to vault himself up and fight if necessary. “Who are you?” he demands, not expecting an answer.

“I am King Yôk, this is my guard Nana, and your caretaker is Haifel,” the one in the crown introduces itself.

“So you do speak,” Sendak remarks, relaxing his grip slightly.

“Most of us do, yes,” Yôk tells him. “Haifel is an exception.”

“Why is it healing me?”

“ _They_ ,” Yôk replies sharply, “are caring for you because they are the one who found you. I am afraid to say your escape pod seems to be destroyed beyond repair.”

Sendak growls. “That was no escape pod.” The memories are hazy, ever disappearing as if it were all a dream, but he knows just enough. Voltron. Voltron is the reason he’s here. He can’t say exactly _how_ or _why_ he knows that, when all he remembers is the Champion, blue energy, and a deep loathing for the color green that had never existed before.

“Regardless,” the king continues smoothly, “There are no ships in the area, so you will have to content yourself by staying here while you recover.”

A planet with no ships and no Galra around? He’s either landed on a planet unknown to the Empire – impossible – or he’s out much further from where they traveled before. “And how long will I have to wait?” He grits out. Waiting, healing naturally, those things aren’t that Sendak _does_. They aren’t things any self-respecting Galra does. Galra are made for battle, for war, for glory.

They don’t do well when asked to sit and _wait_.

“We don’t expect you’d have to wait much longer than a month,” the king says, as if that’s good news.

“A month?” Sendak explodes. “Absolutely not.”

The look the king gives him is unyielding. “Feel free to launch yourself into space with no ship then. If you can even figure out how.” And with that, Yôk and the guard disappear through the flap, leaving Sendak alone with Haifel once again.

He snarls, lurching forward to follow, but the pain spikes in his stomach once again, and Sendak’s forced to lie back against the bed. Haifel is there almost immediately, fussing with the blankets as if he’s some old invalid. Sendak smacks them with the back of his hand. “I can take care of myself.”

They don’t respond, don’t even look surprised at the hit. Instead they give Sendak that infuriating look before backing away, leaving him alone in the room.

\---

Three days pass before Sendak can walk without help. The only sustenance he’s given is the strange wood flavored liquid, but it must possess magical abilities because he doesn’t crave food and he feels himself getting stronger as time goes on. By the beginning of the fourth day, Sendak’s had more than enough of lying around. Truly, he’d had enough before, but at this point he feels strong enough to try walking again.

He waits until Haifel isn’t there, having memorized the schedule in the past few days before kicking his feet off the bed and planting them on the ground. They don’t shake when he puts his weight on them this time, and he’s able to push himself fully upright without keeling over.

Walking is another thing all together.

Sendak only makes it two steps before the strength leaves his legs and he tumbles over. He reaches out, grasping for something to hold onto, but all he succeeds in doing is slamming his hand into the tray Haifel left on the bedside table before he crashes to the ground. It flips up before smashing down, shattering the bowl and jug, spilling the earthy scented drink all over the floor.

Haifel rushes inside before Sendak can right himself. They’re there in a moment, pulling on his arm, trying to bring him upright. Sendak throws them off with a roar. “I don’t need your help!”

As always, Haifel doesn’t seem offended or bothered in any way. They just stare at Sendak, unblinkingly, and finally it’s enough. He lunges, wrapping his hand around Haifel’s neck, just about the only thing he can do. “I am not something to be _pitied_ ,” he spits. Haifel’s eyes widen, and they mime something Sendak doesn’t understand. He releases his grip, letting the alien back away.

He ignores them, trying to reign in his anger as he pushes himself upright, using the table to help himself. He’s breathing harder than he should just to stand, but he’s not giving in. Ignoring the shattered ceramic scattered all over the floor, he makes his way across the room.

By the time he reaches the flap that is the door, Haifel’s already gathered up the broken dishes and carried the tray out. Regardless, he keeps going all the way to the door. Sendak leans his left side against the wall and uses his one good arm to lift the flap.

Bright light from outside nearly blinds him. He lets out a shout, dropping the flap to cover his eyes instead. The light in here hadn’t felt dim until he saw the difference. But he’s a Commander of the Galra Empire, and some glowing star isn’t going to keep him from walking outside.

He gives it another try, pushing open the flap with his eyes squinted. Sendak walks outside slowly, sticking close to the wall so he doesn’t fall over this time. When his eyes finally adjust, he looks around at his current prison.

He’s in a village made up of little clay huts, all just the same size as the one he’s been in. The star shines brightly, illuminating the village and the surrounding forest. It looks nothing like planet Drule, his home planet. It doesn’t have any of the Galran mining equipment he’s seen on countless conquered planets. It doesn’t even look like the planets they’d conquered for trade routes or other reasons, where they add buildings and guards but nothing more. None of the grey and purple he’s always seen surrounds him. There are no flags bearing the symbol of the Empire hanging off the existing buildings.

Nowhere does Sendak see evidence that other Galra have ever been here or that he’ll find a ship to take him back to the Empire. But if they expect ships to come sometime in the future, then that can mean only one thing: they’re a planet ruled over by the rebels, the so-called “freedom fighters”.

“Ah, I see you’ve come out,” an unfamiliar voice speaks up, startling Sendak.

He nearly jumps, but his weak legs prevent himself from doing that. Instead, he twitches, leaning heavily against the structure behind him. He looks down, catching sight of one of the natives. He’s not sure he could pick them out of a lineup, but it isn’t Haifel. “Who are you?” he growls. He may be weak, but he isn’t helpless. He’s survived worse than this – a few midgets sneaking up on him, trying to surprise him while he’s weak is hardly worth noting.

“You are just as rude as Nana described.”

“Who is Nana?”

The creature whistles. “Good thing I didn’t introduce myself, or you’d forget me too.”

“Weakling,” Sendak snarls, “I do not have time for your insolence. Tell me why you’re here.”

It just tuts. “For some reason, Haifel seems to think you _deserve_ to receive a fresh new arm. I’m here to take measurements.”

Sendak’s nails dig into the clay behind him. “I don’t need an arm from you.” When he gets back to the Empire he’ll go to the druids for an upgrade, a newer, bigger model. Until then, he’s not so weak as to need a _wooden_ arm. He’s survived with only one in the past, and he’ll do it again.

“Very well. Let me warn you about this though,” the creature steps forward, dropping its voice threateningly. “If you try to strangle my nibling again, you won’t have an arm to worry about.” It leaves with a wave, ignoring Sendak’s snarl behind him.

He needs to get off this Zarkon-forsaken planet.

Sendak stumbles back inside the hut, knowing he doesn’t have the energy to make it any further today. Even if he did, he’s not in the mood to hear more threats. Without his full strength, taking on the full village might be more than he can handle. He needs more of the healing wood drink. It’s no druid magic, but it’s certainly healing him faster than he would naturally.

Through pure effort alone, he makes it back to the bed without collapsing again. A soft sheen of sweat lines his forehead, a testament to how much effort he’d needed to expel just to cover that small distance. He’s going to be stuck here a long time.

\---

When Sendak was a teenager, he’d been singled out as a promising future general from his Zarkon’s Youth group. Coming from a family made of large Galra, and with a father in Zarkon’s inner circle, it was expected that he would go on to join the Empire’s military. He’d risen quickly through the ranks, physical ability and blood thirstiness level making him stand out above the rest.

Tragedy had struck on a raid to an unconquered Balmera.

Sendak had been a lieutenant at the time, serving under Commander Yurak. This was his largest raid as a soldier, the one that was to push him forward towards becoming a commander in his own right, to being noticed by Zarkon himself. And at the beginning, everything seemed to be going as normal.

But then it turned into a disaster.

The Balmera itself was still alive, had too much fight in it, causing rifts to break out when the Galra landed, forcing dozens of soldiers to fall to their deaths. The inhabitants, too, had been armed by freedom fighters and seemed prepared for the attack.

Sendak had led the charge himself, eager as always to prove himself on the front line. His blood lust served him well, and he took out almost twenty of the Balmerans before the planet targeted him for destruction.

The ground beneath him had cracked and he’d fallen, barely managing to catch himself with one hand. A Balmeran, the one he’d pegged as the leader, had approached him then and kicked him in the face. Sendak had lost his grip and tumbled down, landing hard into the caves below. A score of rocks had followed him down, trapping his arm in place.

With victory and his honor at stake, Sendak had taken matters into his own hands. He’d chopped his arm off and limped his way through the caves, gathering up the Galra who had fallen and survived.

In the end, the Balmera’s defense mechanism turned out to be its weakness. More Galra survived the fall than died, and Sendak led them up to the top, trapping the remaining fighters in an unexpected pincer movement. Sendak had disposed of the leader himself, brutal and unforgiving.

He’d done the whole thing with one arm, weakened and running on pure rage and adrenaline. And when it ended, he found that Commander Yurak had died, leaving him in charge of the forces. Sendak stayed three days without being healed, ensuring that the Galra rule was taking, before heading back to central command to report.

It was a huge win; that Balmera had been the last to come under their control. It had been floating deep in rebel space for thousands of years before the creature had finally drifted into Empire controlled space. Now, none of the crystals could be used by anyone aside from the Galra.

As a reward, after he’d been healed, he’d been taken to the druids. And not just any druid; he was taken to Haggar herself. She’d fitted him with a new arm, sized to match his other with twice the strength. But that wasn’t his only reward.

Zarkon himself sought him out to train him.

The emperor, though rarely on the front line, was the strongest opponent Sendak had ever gone up against. He was impossibly fast and strong, besting Sendak in every bout despite Sendak using all his training. Zarkon sent Sendak back to the druids for upgrades to his arm after every battle until he’d nearly managed to defeat Zarkon in training one day. He lost, but it was a near thing.

“Sendak,” Zarkon had said, back to him while Sendak himself still lay on the floor. “How would you like to be my first in command?”

He’d immediately forced himself up into a proper kneel. “It would be my honor, sire.”

“Good. Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa.”

\---

Sendak is unflinching in his refusal of a new arm. Haifel brings their uncle, Turav, back every day for the next two weeks. And every day for the next two weeks, Sendak refuses to be measured, refuses to even consider getting a new arm, but that doesn’t stop Haifel from bringing him.

He gets stronger as the time passes, standing up and walking around more and more as the days turn to weeks. He’d first headed into the village once he was strong enough to walk without help.

Sendak avoids the village as much as he can after his first jaunt into it. The creatures are too happy, too innocent. They’re nothing like the Galra, nothing even like the races the Galra have conquered. They don’t have the fear he’s grown accustomed to seeing from the conquered races, nor do they have the blood thirst his own race is known for. Overall, it makes things…uncomfortable.

So he takes to exploring the forest instead.

Haifel worries over him when he returns, making exaggerated gestures that Sendak is sure means something like _stop wandering off_. He resists the urge to choke them again. After all, Haifel is the one who saved him from bleeding out after his crash. In a way, he owes them.

He doesn’t owe Haifel enough to stop wandering the forest, though.

Sendak rips branches off the trees one-handed, using his feet to tear off the bark. He practices a few times before fashioning a make-shift spear out of it. The creatures don’t have weapons, not that he’s seen. For all intents and purposes, they look like a peaceful race. It would be idiotic for the Galra _not_ to force them under their rule. The natural resources in the forest alone should push them to do just that.

That can only mean one thing: this planet is under rebel rule. And when the rebels arrive, he – the only Galra anywhere to be seen – will be in for a fight.

So Sendak prepares. He spends his days in the forest ignoring Haifel’s persistent presence and forging crude weapons. The first few are garbage. He smashes them, ripping them apart and pounding them into the trees. It’s cathartic and it helps him get out some of the pent up frustration he can’t let out against Haifel anymore.

_You’re a broken soldier_.

Sendak gets better at building weapons one handed. He finds rocks that are already sharp enough on their own that he doesn’t need to sharpen them and straps them to the ends of branches. These make decent spears, but Sendak’s never been a big fan of them. He wants something bigger, powerful like the arm he lost. Using rope strewn around – abandoned on the edge of the forest as if someone had tried making a fence once and gave up – he forms a large branch into a hammer by tying a rock onto it.

Now he won’t be helpless when the rebels arrive to take him away.

And so Sendak trains, remembering the things Zarkon had taught him. A Galra is not made of his weapons – he needs to be able to use all his surroundings at will. Sendak needs to be able to fight armless, weaponless, and injured.

He remembers the paladins better now. He remembers taking the Champion captive, whose fighting had been reminiscent of a Galra’s. His arm hadn’t had the same power as Sendak’s own, but he’s sure that given enough time, he could’ve converted the Champion over to Zarkon’s side. They aren’t so different, after all.

The blue one had shot him in the back, catching him by surprise. Had he not been unconscious for most of the battle, Sendak is sure Haxus would’ve had a harder time with that one. The red one had held his own. He was a skilled fighter, and yet would’ve been no match for Sendak at his strongest, one-on-one.

But it’s the green one Sendak pictures when he trains. Every bush he slays is that _man-child_. Every stump he crushes beneath his hammer is his head. And every tree trunk he pulverizes by crushing a rock against it is made of his bones. Voltron may be an enemy of the Empire by itself, the Champion may be Zarkon’s nemesis. But the green paladin…he is _Sendak’s_.

It’s during one of these training sessions, when Sendak is deep in his fantasy, ripping the green paladin limb from limb single handedly, that he hears a familiar rumble. He’s heard it so many times in his life that it shouldn’t startle him, but he’s been on partial alert ever since he could walk again, listening for it.

The sound of a ship entering the atmosphere.

He immediately drops the sapling in his hand, ears pricking as he turns his face up. From where he is, deep in the trees, he can’t make out the ship itself. A rustling draws his head back down, and he snaps his hand out, grabbing Haifel by the arm before they can disappear to the village. Sendak still doesn’t know if they can understand him, but he tries anyway.

“Stay here, and stay down,” he instructs roughly. Sendak shoves Haifel away just for good measure and creeps through the trees.

He crouches just on the edge of the forest, hiding behind a rock while he grips his hammer. He pokes his head out of the trees, looking up first.

It’s a Galra warship.

Sendak’s hair stands on end, hackles raising. In reality, he shouldn’t feel threatened the way he does right now. A Galra warship is _exactly_ what he wants to see. A Galra warship means the rebels have been defeated. Haifel and Yôk and all the other creatures whose names he couldn’t bother to remember will be taken captive. The resources of the planet will be used to enforce the glory that is the Empire.

And yet…something’s not right. Sendak isn’t sure how he knows that, but his instincts have never steered him wrong before. There is something distinctly _strange_ about this place, about the Galra warship hovering in the air.

For one thing, the village doesn’t seem scared or even surprised.

Sendak looks down at the buildings and watches the townspeople emerge from their houses and gather in the square, but none of them have gathered arms. A rumbling sounds from the ship, and a small shuttle leaves it, heading straight for the crowd. It doesn’t fire on them, instead stopping just in front of where they’re standing.

Sendak hears rustling near him and turns, hammer half-raised. He relaxes when he sees Haifel standing there, resolutely watching him. Sendak glares. “Stay down, and stay quiet,” he growls, keeping his voice low.

The door to the shuttle has already opened by the time he looks back at the scene unfolding in the village. A beat of time passes before a Galra steps out, flanked by two drones. Sendak frowns, squinting at the Galra. They look familiar, but not immediately recognizable. He gets the feeling he’s seen them before, but that they’re not someone in Zarkon’s inner circle – not one of his generals.

King Yôk bows to them and says something Sendak can’t hear. He curses under his breath and gathers up his hammer. “Stay here,” he whispers to Haifel again, hoping they’ll actually listen this time.

Sendak creeps forward, weapon in hand as he stays low. His fur is still standing on edge, nerves frayed at the ends. Something about the situation seems off, and until he remembers exactly _where_ he knows this Galra from, he’s not going to reveal himself.

He hides behind one of the houses on the outskirts, poking his head out so he can get a better view. From here, he can tell that the Galra is female, larger, with ears the size of his own. But she also looks…off somehow. As if she’s not _pure_ Galra. As if someone in her family had betrayed their kind and laid with another race.

“ – here a few weeks ago,” King Yôk finishes.

The Galra’s eyes flash around the crowd, her weight shifts, and suddenly, Sendak knows where he recognizes her from. She isn’t one of Zarkon’s generals – she isn’t even under Zarkon at all.

This is one of Lotor’s half-breeds.

Her gaze flicks to where he’s hiding, and Sendak throws himself back behind the house with a curse. It all makes sense now – the locals not being afraid of him, the frequency of ships appearing, the lack of a Galra forces here. This is one of Lotor’s so called “conquered” planets.

The ones the weak prince collects but doesn’t have the strength to occupy, instead leaving them to rule themselves. As if they can truly be part of the Galra Empire when there are no Galra – aside himself and _her_ now – on the planet at all.

Sendak’s amazed such a weakling, such a _lunatic_ , was bred from Zarkon himself.

No true Emperor would ever abandon his empire the way that shameful bastard of a prince does. If Sendak didn’t truly believe Zarkon would live forever, he’d go for the throne himself just to prevent someone like _that_ from having it. But he knows the truth. Zarkon had been the Emperor when the Alteans started the war ten thousand years ago, and he’s still here now. He’ll long outlive this son, and the one after that, and the one after that.

The sound of a blaster charging up breaks Sendak from his thoughts. “Drop your weapon,” the robotic voice of a sentry says.

Shit. She saw him.

Sendak swings, slamming his hammer into the blaster before the sentry can fire on him. The gun falls to the ground, taking the sentry’s hand with it, and Sendak kicks it hard in the chest, sending it flying back.

The second sentry appears before he can move further than a few steps from the hut. He ducks, and the fired shot flies over his head, singing the fur at the tip of his ear. Sendak takes two crouched steps before swinging upwards, slamming his hammer into the chin of the sentry.

Its head flies up, neck sparking before the body collapses, worthless. There were only two and the general, but there’s a whole warship above them. One of _Lotor’s_ , in fact. Had he two arms or Haxus with him, he’d consider taking it himself, the way he took the castle of lions. But alone and crippled the way he is, he’d be better off waiting until a smaller ship arrived.

Sendak isn’t given the choice.

A roar is the warning he gets to the general charging him. Sendak swings with his hammer, but he already knows he’s too slow. She hits him like a rampaging weblum, and Sendak loses his grip on his hammer. They crash to the ground, hard enough for him to lose his breath, but that has never stopped him in the past.

Sendak gets his legs under her stomach and kicks, making her fly off him. He scrambles to his feet, and does a quick search for his hammer. It’s on the ground a ways off, rope torn, separating the rock from the branch.

He gives it up as hopeless, and prepares himself for a physical battle instead. She charges him again, but this time he’s ready. Sendak crouches just before she hits, grabbing her around the waist. He flips her over his back, throwing her to the ground.

When he turns, he sees murder in her eyes. “Sendak,” she growls venomously.

He sets his stance, calling on the training he’d done under Zarkon as she stands again. She doesn’t charge him this time. Instead she throws a punch which he easily counters. The downside to having one arm shows itself immediately.

Her second punch connects with his face. He kicks, but she moves too quickly. She slams her fist into his chest, forcing him backwards, and she’s there before he can recover. She grips his wrist with bruising force and twists his arm around behind him before slamming him face-first into the ground.

Sendak inhales dirt before he can twist his head to the side to avoid suffocation. He can feel the blood trickling down his nose, the bruise on his lip from where his teeth had bit into it when he fell.

The creatures are all gathered around, watching the fight. For a moment, all the loathing Sendak’s been holding in for the past few weeks come to the surface. He spits some of his blood out onto the dirt, blowing dust into the air in front of his face. Very intentionally, he makes eye contact with Yôk and then Turav, conveying wordlessly that he will come back here. And he will kill them all.

Sendak lets his eyes wander over the other villagers, passing on the silent message until he hits the end of the line. Where the guard he’d seen the first time he’d met the king is holding back a struggling Haifel. Sendak spits out a tooth.

He won’t kill Haifel.

“Yôk,” the general commands, knee digging into Sendak’s back, “I will send a shuttle down to collect payment. Be prepared.” With that, she hoists Sendak up, as if he’s nothing more than a ragdoll.

His arm strains against her grip, but he succeeds in doing nothing more than making the bones in his wrist crack. He doesn’t give her the pleasure of letting out a single sound of pain.

She hustles him forward, forcing him to walk towards the shuttle. He doesn’t drag his feet on the ground, doesn’t give her the pleasure of taking his dignity as well. Instead he walks forward, teeth bared in a snarl at all the creatures as they pass. It succeeds in parting the crowd, but it doesn’t do anything to keep him from being forced into the shuttle.

A third sentry is inside, seated at the helm. “Take me back to the ship,” the general instructs. She doesn’t release her hold on Sendak the entire ride up, doesn’t release her hold as she shoves him out of the shuttle into the ship, doesn’t release her hold on him until she takes him down the halls to the prison cells.

She pushes him inside an empty cell, one with an energy shield as a door so he doesn’t even have the benefit of privacy. The general hooks a cuff to one of his wrists and attaches the other end to the wall. “Sleep well, _Commander_ ,” she spits.

He growls in response but otherwise doesn’t say anything as she leaves the cell, closing the shield behind her.

\---

The general is cruel; in a way, she reminds Sendak of himself. Three times a day – mealtimes – she comes down the hall, carrying the food herself. She doesn’t need to, he sees the sentries wandering the halls. But she does, lip curled up in a snarl, and they have the same conversation.

“What were you doing on that planet?” she asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

She shrugs, tilting the food towards him to show him what the meal is that time. “Only if you want to eat.”

“Go to hell,” he replies every time.

“Very well.”

After that she leaves. Sendak doesn’t cave. He doesn’t want _Lotor_ of all people to know about his failure to capture Voltron on Ares. Best case scenario that would earn the prince’s mockery. Worst case scenario, the prince would try to help, and Sendak would never get his revenge on the green paladin.

So he stays quiet about it.

He lets the days pass, ignoring the rumbling of his stomach. Sendak is no stranger to hunger, no stranger to pain. The general is ruthless and cruel, but she is no match for him. For one thing, she appears younger than he is. Perhaps in time she would learn, but for now…for now she has no leverage on him.

The ship stops after a week of travel. Sendak feels the engines change from their normal roar of movement to a soft hum of stability. He doesn’t need to wonder what they stopped for, because he already knows. And even if he didn’t, the footsteps coming down the hallway after over a varga of silence reveals it.

Sentries lead the way, but Sendak can see – his mechanical eye still intact enough to aid him – the prince himself walking alongside the general who took him. There are others too, partial Galra who are a blight on the bloodline, following behind. Sendak pays them no mind.

He focuses his gaze on the prince instead, meeting his eyes when the group comes to a halt in front of his cell.

Silence envelops them until Lotor finally breaks it. “So, the rumors are true,” he drawls, lips quirked in a half smirk. “The great Commander Sendak was truly bested by the paladins of Voltron.”

Sendak snarls. “What’s it to you, bastard prince?”

“I am no bastard, I assure you that,” Lotor says, smirk growing larger despite the insult.

“I answer only to the Emperor,” Sendak replies.

At that, he swears he hears a dark chuckle come from the prince. Sendak starts forward, stopped by the cuff and energy door in front of him. “What’s so funny?” he growls.

“You’ve been gone so long, you must not have heard,” Lotor begins. “It seems you do have something in common with my father after all. He, too, was bested by the paladins of Voltron. Congratulations.”

“I will not stand here and take the mockery of Zarkon’s _disgrace_ of a son.”

The general who took him lets out a growl and steps forward, but Lotor raises his hand passively to stop her. “Easy, Zethrid. After all, Sendak doesn’t realize who he’s talking to.”

For the first time in as long as he can remember, Sendak feels real fear. This prince, this disgrace, is the next true heir to the throne. If he isn’t lying, isn’t slinking around like a snake…

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

Finally, Lotor’s smirk fully forms across his face. “What I am saying is this: I am Lotor, Emperor Pro-Tem of the Galra Empire. My father is on his death bed, and I am in control.”

This time, Sendak is the one to laugh. “The Commanders won’t take you seriously. You’ll have a mutiny on your hands in no time.”

“True,” Lotor concedes, not nearly as scared at the words as Sendak had expected he would be. “Which is why I already took care of it. If you would like to join Throk in the Ulippa System, I would be more than happy to send you there.”

“Throk is weak,” Sendak spits. “He is as unworthy of the title Commander as you are of the one Emperor.”

It seems as if Sendak’s words finally hit Lotor. The prince’s eyebrows twitch before his face schools itself into a blank mask. “Very well,” he says. “Zethrid, I expect you to keep him here until I instruct otherwise.”

With that, he turns on his heel and marches away. It almost feels like a victory, watching the prince disappear. But the general who captured him – Zethrid – hangs behind, lips bared in a snarl at him through the energy door.

“You will regret that,” she says, turning to leave.

\---

Sendak doesn’t regret it at first. He stands strong until the hunger gets to him and he collapses unconscious. When he wakes, he’s chained to a bed, nutrients pumping into his blood. He has yet to eat.

“Where am I?” he demands to no one in particular.

A grunt, some Galra in a helmet is the one to reply. “Thaserix,” and they pause a second before adding awkwardly, “sir.”

“Why Thaserix?” The planet is inhospitable as far as Sendak remembers, atmosphere toxic. It has no strategic advantage; it isn’t even worth terraforming.

The grunt stares at him – or at least, Sendak thinks they do. He can’t see the top of their face. “Because the prince lured Voltron here.”

Voltron. The mere name causes Sendak’s to clench his fist around the sheets, tearing them. “And what does he plan to do with them?”

“I’m…um…not sure, sir,” the grunt tells him again. “We were summoned here by General Acxa.”

The name means nothing to Sendak, but that doesn’t bother him. Lotor is the Emperor Pro-Tem of the Galra Empire, but that wasn’t enough to get Sendak to follow him. Without Zarkon around, there’s only one thing that could make Sendak want to follow the prince.

And that something is out on planet Thaserix.

“Where is Zethrid? I need to speak with her,” he demands.

The grunt flinches. “General Zethrid is aboard Lotor’s personal ship, as she usually is. This ship is under Commander Morvok’s command.”

Sendak rips the sheet with a snarl. The only Galra commander less deserving of their title than Throk is Morvok. Lotor means to humiliate him. “Send for Morvok, then,” he commands.

“Sir, we are in the middle of battle.”

“Then Morvok would love to have any excuse to leave his post,” Sendak growls.

“I have been ordered to keep you here until the end of battle by General Zethrid herself, sir.”

Sendak roars. “Do you know who I am, soldier?”

The grunt twitches, not jumping completely but clearly scared by the outburst. “Yes, sir.”

“Then you will obey _my_ order,” Sendak growls. “Fetch Commander Morvok. I must speak with General Zethrid immediately.”

The grunt’s knuckles tighten around his weapon, but he holds his ground. Sendak takes note of him, recording it for the future. This soldier has promise – obeying his orders in the face of fear. “I’m sorry, sir,” the grunt visibly swallows, “but I have to obey General Zethrid’s orders.”

Sendak claws at his sheet, but he’s helpless to do anything except snarl and growl. He’s still weak from lack of nutrition, still only has one arm which is cuffed to the floor by the bed. Waiting is pure hell, but wait he does until the ship-wide announcement is made that Voltron is out of range – the battle is over.

The grunt holds true to his promise: once the announcement is made, he leaves Sendak’s side and returns with Morvok, the slippery bastard. “Sendak,” Morvok greets, sounding as slimy as he looks. “I see you haven’t been eating.”

“And I see you’ve been eating too much,” Sendak retorts. He bares his teeth, relishing in the shiver that runs down Morvok’s body.

“Enough of the pleasantries,” Morvok says. “Roman here says that you’re _very insistent_ to speak with me.”

“I need you to summon General Zethrid.”

Morvok scoffs at that. “I? Summon her? Things don’t work the way they did under Zarkon, Sendak. We are second class to the prince’s generals.”

“Tell her I’m ready to negotiate. We’ll see how fast she comes.”

Morvok tuts, but he doesn’t argue. “I will call for her. We shall see how fast she comes.” He turns to leave, stopping next to the grunt standing by the door. “Roman, do make sure he’s incapacitated before you take him back to his room. He has a bit of a temper.”

Sendak roars after him, sending Morvok skittering down the hallway.

\---

Another week passes before Sendak sees hide or hair of Zethrid. He doesn’t refuse his meals this time, instead gaining his strength in preparation. He is of no use to the Empire in his weakened state, after all.

When she finally appears, she doesn’t look pleased to see him. “Sendak,” she greets, voice still filled with the same disdain as before. “What do you want?”

“I am ready to serve under Price Lotor,” Sendak says. He’s rehearsed it while waiting for her, so only a small amount of disgust gets through at the sentence.

Enough though for her to notice. She bares her teeth, not quite in a smile but something better than a grimace. “Are you, now? Sick of being held as a useless, one-armed prisoner?”

His hackles rise, but Sendak manages to stop from throwing himself at the barrier. “He has something I want, and I have something he wants.”

“You have nothing he wants,” Zethrid says, though she sounds uncertain.

“Take me to him and we shall see.”

She pauses before replying. “If you try anything, I will not hesitate to kill you.”

“As expected.”

She takes the barrier down and steps inside. In a moment, she has his cuff in her hand, holding it like a leash. She leads him down the hallways, and Sendak ignores how all the grunts and sentries immediately stand at attention when she walks by.

Zethrid leads him to the same shuttle she’d used before, though this time she’s the only occupant. She ties him to one of the walls, far out of reach of anything he could use as a weapon, before taking off.

Sendak stands still for the entire ride, allowing his anger to thrum under his skin. This, he decides, is a compromise. He will not allow himself to rot in an Empire prison forever, not when he was Zarkon’s right hand man. But he will not concede to the prince as his new leader without reason.

They approach a strange ship, not completely Galran in design. It’s strange, the way Sendak would expect something by Lotor would be, but he bites that down, picturing instead the small, green paladin.

The ship docks easily, and Sendak notices the distinct lack of people – or even sentries – as Zethrid leads him down the hall to the bridge.

The bridge is set up for the five generals, with Lotor seated in a throne towards the back. He looks impossibly arrogant, cheek resting on his fist as he instructs the generals to change their course.

Zethrid clears her throat.

Immediately, Lotor’s attention is drawn to him. He sits up straight, that infuriating smirk appearing once more over his face. “Sendak,” he greets. “To what do we owe this honor?”

Sendak grits his teeth, forcing the memory of Voltron to the forefront of his mind. “I am ready to serve under you.”

“Really,” Lotor deadpans. “And why should I believe you?”

The green paladin’s holographic self runs through his mind, and Sendak’s lips curl back over his teeth. “I want to destroy Voltron.”

“I have no interest in Voltron,” Lotor dismisses with a wave of his hand. “I am not my father.”

That takes Sendak aback. “Voltron is the Galra’s enemy!” he declares. “How can you let them roam free?”

“I never said I let them roam free. I simply do not have the same obsession with Voltron as my father.”

“Then I have something to offer you,” Sendak growls.

“Oh? And what is that?”

“I will take on Voltron. Allow me to lead the charge against them.”

Lotor smirks. “And have you turn against me the moment you capture the lions? I don’t think so.”

Sendak falters. His one bargaining chip is gone. Lotor continues speaking before Sendak can gather his thoughts. “There are more than enough Galra, from my father’s regime and others, who are willing to take down Voltron. Your fighting prowess is indeed spoken of, but I’m afraid that with one arm you are less than useless to me. If you have nothing else to say – “

“I want the green paladin,” Sendak interrupts.

If Lotor’s offended by the interruption, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he settles back on his throne and narrows his eyes at Sendak. “Why the green one?”

“He is the reason I was on that forsaken planet. He is the one who took my arm.”

“And what do you have to offer?”

Sendak winces. He has nothing left to offer, nothing except: “My loyalty.”

“If you pledge your loyalty,” Lotor says, “then I expect you to pledge it to _me_ , not to the Galra Empire.” Sendak opens his mouth to retort, but Lotor holds up his hand. “I know what I ask. Loyalty is no easy thing to pledge. Think hard on this, Commander.”

Sendak grits his teeth. “I have.”

“You will need to say it, and you will need to sign in blood on your honor as a Galra.”

“I pledge my loyalty to you, Prince Lotor.” Zethrid yanks on the chain still attached to the cuff, and a second too late Sendak bows down before the prince – the one he swore to hate.

“Ezor,” Lotor says, almost lazily.

Sendak opens his mouth to ask what that means but in a second, the smallest general is in front of him, grin on her face as she slashes into his hand. He bites down on the shout of surprise, and bleeds willingly onto the holopad she holds in front of him.

“Very well,” Lotor speaks again. Sendak looks up, seeing the prince in the same posture as when he’d first walked in. “Zethrid, take the cuff off the Commander. He is no longer a prisoner.” She complies, and Sendak stands up the moment his wrist is free, flexing it.

“Zethrid will accompany you to the druids, where you will be fit with a new arm,” Lotor continues. “We will find you a post somewhere where you will be equipped to search for the green lion.” He leans forward, eyes baring into Sendak’s very soul. “But if you even _consider_ fomenting insurrection, I will have you watch as I slay every single one of the paladins myself, ending with the green one. These are your terms, Commander.” He waves his hand. “Dismissed.”

Zethrid leads him, leash-less this time, back to the shuttle. She flies them silently, taking them to central command faster than light. Without a word, she deposits him with the druids, who already look to be expecting him. He thinks that’s it until he turns and hears her call out to him from behind.

“Sendak.” He turns. “It’s wise to heed the prince’s warning. After all, if you do turn on him, I promise I will be the one to get you.”

He bares his teeth in a dark grin. “I look forward to it,” he says before letting the druids take him away.

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a zine that fell through. Had I known it would fall through sooner I would've posted this before season 5 came out and changed this from canon compliant to canon divergent. (I'm a little upset about it if you can't tell.)
> 
> To anyone who read this, thank you.
> 
> [Some lovely art by Mary C](http://artbymaryc.tumblr.com/post/174067067742/collaboration-with-rinthegreat-for-their-fic)


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